


And You Are

by Smittenwithdaydreams



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: 2nd Person, Episode 6, Hamish Duke - Freeform, Hamish Duke X Reader, Homecoming Part 2, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smittenwithdaydreams/pseuds/Smittenwithdaydreams
Summary: You're late to class and Hamish just so happens to come across you. Hamish Duke X Reader.





	1. Professor?

**Author's Note:**

> We don't really know much about Hamish Duke at the moment so I took some information from Episode 6, minute: 32 - Homecoming Part 2 and made a one-shot that I may or may not continue. I enjoyed writing it though and I love this show, I hope more fans get into and write for the Fandom.

You were already running late to class when, low and behold, you tripped over a slightly raised paving stone just off campus. Your book bag didn’t remotely cushion your fall and the sound of your phone skidding away from you was deafening. 

“I fucking hate Tuesdays,” you groaned, taking a moment to process what had happened before you even thought of making an attempt to get up. What did it matter anyway? You were late, again. Your professor would make some dick comment, again. Everyone in class would side-eye you like a failure sign followed you around, again. Whoever told you that college would be great was a fucking liar. All you’d received so far were lousy grades and anxiety. 

“Are you alright?” A deep voice asked in an accent unlike your own. They sounded concerned and amused, both of which irritated you further. 

“Oh sure,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is just part of my morning routine.” 

“An odd way to familiarise yourself with campus, I suppose, but I’m quite the advocate for oddities. Do you mind if I join you?” Before you could question anything about them, the stranger was already lying down next to you, and now you could see the way he imitated your position on the ground. “Does the bag beneath you offer more experience or am I alright to do without? I don’t have one on me, you see.” Who even was this guy? You’d never seen him around before, that was for certain. 

“Who are you?” You asked, ignoring his pursuits to imitate your discomfort. 

“Hamish, and you are?” 

“Confused as to what the hell you’re doing.” 

“A most unusual name,” he retorted with a smile. You weren’t sure how to respond to that, momentarily distracted by how incredibly blue his eyes were. He stared back at you, the smile unwavering, and if you hadn’t been so self-conscious, you might have laid there with him a hell of a lot longer. You turned your head away and helped yourself up off of the ground, and your book bag, of course, and retrieved your now broken phone while Hamish got to his feet too. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered. Hamish handed you the strap of your bag and you hesitated, confused as to his entire presence. “What’re you doing here?” 

“That’s a tale I’ll have to tell you another time,” he said. “You were in a hurry,” he said and gestured to the gate you were on route to pass through. 

“Shit.” You took the bag without so much as a thank you and took off. Your phone could wait till later. As if good fortune had prevailed, you managed to make it to class without any further incidents--and--Professor Krowchuk wasn’t in yet. 

“You look… ruffled,” Margaret, the woman who always wore bright sweaters, said from her usual seat on the left of you. The tables were set out in the shape of a horseshoe and there was 27 of you in total, all with their own assigned seat - hence why it was always so obvious that you were late. 

“Where’s Professor Krowchuk?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound too pleased he wasn’t there. 

“No idea. Apparently there’s a sub in this morning,” she replied, looking down her nose at you while you took out your philosophy book. “Hamish, I think they called him.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered just before the classroom door shut. You turned to see Hamish sauntering towards Professor Krowchuk’s desk, his hands in his pockets, a smile playing on his lips as he watched you gape at him. Many questions crossed your mind at once but instead of asking one, you sighed loudly and sat down; too overwhelmed by the day enough to try and make sense of it. 

“I am Professor Duke, you can call me Hamish. I’ll be filling in for Krowchuk. Open your books to page 241, it should bring you to the section on David Hume.”


	2. That Something - And You Are Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cont. 
> 
> After class, you know something isn't right.

Class was surprisingly more interesting and far easier for you to understand with Hamish teaching it, you were rather disappointed that it wouldn’t become an every week occurrence. It was getting close to the bell when a knock at the door distracted you from the lull of Hamish’s speech on True Identity. When he stepped out into the hall, your classmates began talking amongst themselves but something… something you couldn’t quite understand, something in your gut, told you that something bad was about to happen. 

You were startled by a loud bang, like a large object hitting a locker, and stood to attention; unsure about what you were ready for but… but you were ready. When Hamish leaned back in through the door, pain written across his face, you found yourself already packing your books away; fixated. 

He said something about seeing you all next week but that couldn’t be right, he was a sub, wasn’t he? Would Professor Krowchuk not be returning? What was wrong with him? None of the students around you seemed remotely bothered about Hamish’s early leave, not even Margaret. You left as quickly as you could, pushing your way past Simon and Isaiah, only to stop outside the classroom door. 

“Woah, what the hell happened to that?” Simon asked loudly, staring at the dented locker across from you. 

“Some amount of force, I can tell you that,” Isaiah said and laughed. “Out of the way, late-a-lot.” You scowled at the nickname and took off. Hamish couldn’t have gotten too far away and you were determined to help him, the reasons eluding you. 

After twenty minutes of checking classrooms and the cafeteria, you slumped down on a bench outside. The tension in your shoulders told you that you needed to let it go. What would you even say if you found him? ‘Just wanted to make sure you didn’t bail on class for a totally normal reason.’ Hell, he could have IBS or something; that can be pretty painful and come on fast, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate having to tell you that. After all, you were barely even acquaintances. You sighed and let your head fall back into an uncomfortable position. Perhaps a nap was needed - an understatement of the century. 

“Pst.” 

Your eyebrows drew together and you looked up, then looked left, and then looked right. 

“Pst.” Behind you. You awkwardly twisted on the bench and saw the school mascot hunched over, clutching its side. When whoever it was saw they had your attention, they thrust their wolf head to the side in gesture. What the hell, right? Your day was already weird, and that something told you that you’d regret not following the mascot away. You still kept your distance, wary of it all being some elaborate prank to humiliate you. It wasn’t until the both of you were hidden behind the library building, trampling college property plants, that the mascot took their wolf head off. 

“Hamish? What the hell?” Hamish blew out deep breaths and grunted before he slid to the ground, his face contorted in agony. You squatted down beside him. “What can I do? What’s wrong?” 

“I have to get home,” he said through his teeth. “My...my friends, they’re waiting for me.” 

“You look hurt, I should call an ambulance,” you replied and pulled out your phone, only to be reminded that it was totalled. 

“No. No, I need you to help me get home, that’s all.” It seemed like a pretty odd request given you had no idea where he lived, what was wrong with him, and why in the hell he was wearing the college mascot costume. 

“Where’s home?” You asked as you helped Hamish to his feet, one of his arms hung over you to steady himself. “Damn, you’re heavy.” He snorted but had nothing further to say before he put the wolf head back on. “What’s with the costume?” 

“Later,” was all you got. Hamish only spoke again when he was giving you directions to his house which took you both about 15 minutes to walk to what with him hobbling and you struggling to carry the best part of his weight. You banged on the door once you’d arrived and were relieved to see a girl, about your age, open the door. 

“Who the fuck are you?” She asked with a glare, pulling Hamish inside so that she could help him to the sofa. She obviously knew you were coming, no… not you, she knew Hamish was coming. But how? You weren’t sure what to say as you followed her, feeling incredibly unwelcome. Hamish managed to get the wolf head off again just as another person, a boy, strode into the room. 

“Who’s this?” He asked, the question not directed at you. 

“She needs to leave,” Hamish breathed out, almost sounding bad about it but not enough to quell the irritation now burning up inside of you. 

“You heard him, get out,” the girl ordered. You and Hamish regarded one another, and in his defence, he didn’t look all too pleased but you could tell… tell he wanted you to get out as well. You rolled your eyes, beyond frustrated, and left the house; slamming the door behind yourself. He could have, at least, thanked you. He could have, at least, told you what had happened. He could have, at least, let you stay to make sure he was alright. But fuck him, right? He just needed you to get him home, your responsibility was over. Now you could get some sleep. Fuck him.


	3. Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish comes to apologise.

You’d barely slept and when you had managed to fall into the blissful abyss that was unconsciousness, you had a nightmare. You were just worried, that’s all it was. Right? Dreaming that you’d found Hamish dead, and not in the school mascot suit, was a normal reaction to stress. If you’d managed to fall back asleep, you’re sure you’d have been over it and dreamt of something else. 

Your roommate was still snoring, irritatingly loud, when someone knocked on your door. It took all of your composure not to wake Stephenie up and ask her to answer the door, at least then you would be able to think in silence. You threw back the covers and practically lunged out of bed, side-stepping your mosaic of philosophy books that you couldn’t focus on last night. They’d been abandoned on the floor with your last attempt. 

You opened the door with a fiend look of mild curiosity and not irritation until you recognised the man in front of you as Hamish. He had the audacity to look sheepish while presenting a coffee cup and small paper bag from the cafeteria. He opened his mouth to speak but you got there first. 

“How do you know where I live?” You asked, increasingly aware that your pyjamas consisted of an old Teen Wolf top and khaki cycling shorts. Then you reminded yourself that this was your dorm and he had no right to make you feel self-conscious in it. Still, you pulled the door closer to you in attempt to hide the room from his view. 

“My apologies are in order,” he said, holding out the items in his hands. You narrowed your eyes. 

“Answer my question.” He looked better than yesterday, at least there was that. Now you just needed to know everything that had happened and how the hell he was fine in less than 24 hours. Hamish glanced down at your t-shirt and smiled. 

“I asked at reception, explained I had some books to bring you.” 

“And that worked?” You asked in disbelief. Hell, what kind of halls security was that? 

“No,” he admitted. “I asked if I could leave the books there for you. When they went to find a box to store the books in, I turned the monitor around and searched for your details.” You gaped. “Can I come in?” 

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly, your brain unable to process any of his actions. Where did he get off? And why did none of it feel completely surprising to you? 

“Should anyone see me here, they might ask questions,” he said, though showed little genuine concern about such a thing. 

“Then maybe you should have thanked me last night instead of being such an asshole,” you said and plastered on a sweet smile before slamming the door in his face. When you opened it again to take the coffee and bag, his look of sadness kept you from slamming it a second time. “Damn you and your puppy dog eyes,” you muttered, clutching the goodies he’d brought, in what you assumed was his apology. He was gonna have to do better than that. “Meet me on campus in an hour, outside the library.” 

“I’ll be there,” he assured you and left before you shut the door, his expression far happier. You kicked the door shut, successfully waking Stephanie in the process, and sat down at your makeshift desk - a packing box full of throw blankets sat in front of your bedside drawers, your laptop on top. The drink was a flat white and from one taste, you could tell it had the perfect amount of sugar in it. How would he possibly know? The bag contained two of your favourite danish, cinnamon swirls. That was enough to convince you that your substitute professor was, in fact, a stalker. 

It had taken you longer than you anticipated to get dressed, and you were furious to realise part of you wanted to dress nicely for him. A feeling you poured acid over when you settled on your comfort library clothes, the top smelling not quite clean. Body spray fixed it, it was fine. Hamish was waiting out front, as requested, and looked pleased when you approached. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” he said, his only remark on your lateness. 

“I don’t owe you anything, you realise that, right?” It clearly wasn’t the response that he’d wanted. “So, are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?” You crossed your arms and shifted your weight onto one leg, ready to wait him out. He sighed, his gaze searching the bodies around you. 

“It’s complicated.” You said nothing which made him smirk but only for a second. “Alright. I was stabbed by a student who thought I was something I’m...not.” His pause was not lost on you. “I got away and needed a disguise, hence the costume.” 

“Why didn’t you call the police or an ambulance?” 

“My housemate, he’s pre-med, I knew he could handle it.” 

“So you, a man of education, risked bleeding to death so that your unqualified housemate could tend to your stabwound,” you summed up, disbelieving every word of it. Hamish swallowed audibly. 

“Exactly.” 

“You’re a dick, you know that, right?” You asked, his entire face contorted into a frown. “You really thought turning up at my dorm just to lie to my face would make me, what? Roll over? I’m not stupid.” He stepped closer to you, his hands reaching out to grab your forearms. 

“I never said you were.” It took you a split second to realise his expression was one of desperation but you weren’t dense enough to buy into it. He lied to you and from the sounds of it, he wasn’t planning on telling you the truth any time soon. Well, hell. You didn’t need this shit. He was probably messed up in some illegal shit anyway and you had homework to do. The part of you pained by his deciet was easy enough to lock away. 

“You didn’t need to. Professor.” You stepped back, freeing yourself from a stance that was being side-eyed by other students. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He made no attempt to stop you from walking past him, even when you purposely bumped into his shoulder.


	4. Day Drinking

Your bad mood hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone, not even Margaret who had found you crouched down behind a bookshelf, swearing about a book being in the wrong place. Margaret said that what you needed was a drink and given your tension headache, you didn’t disagree. It wasn’t as though you knew Margaret well, and her haughty expressions gave the impression she pitied you, but you needed some kind of distraction. The on campus bar, the Slade and Chalice, wasn’t particularly busy but the music was loud enough to lull you into a false sense of security as you sat at a high table near the bar, Margaret chatting with two other women about an ethics class.

You were still too irked to actually listen. How dare he lie to your face, right? You’d literally taken him home in a bloody mascot suit that it sounded like he'd stolen. You could have been involved in some deep shit for going out of your way and he had the nerve, the nerve! You slammed the beer bottle down on the table, earning distasteful looks from Margaret and her friends.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Margaret’s friend, the one with the short curly hair, asked. She sounded patronising with her forced-concern, you blew air out through your teeth.

“Men, am I right?” You asked which was rewarded with various agreements. You may have drunk a bit too much already but hell, that was the point of day drinking, wasn’t it? “You know, Margaret’s friend, he had the nerve to lie to my face.”

“That’s all they good for, honey,” the other woman said, not the short curly haired one - the redhead with pink hoop earrings in. “If we’d known you were having man problems, we’d have bought you something a bit stronger.”

“That’s true,” Margaret said. She hailed the bartender down and ordered you a gin cocktail. It tasted awful but you were intent on drinking it anyway. “My husband lies through his teeth at least eight times a day.”

“Only eight?” Curly short asked, and snorted. You were beginning to feel less and less bothered by the time some random man came up from behind to speak with you. He had what looked like greasy shoulder length hair and smelled like stale cigarettes, his denim jacket too short for his torso.

“Ladies,” he greeted. “Lil lady,” he added when he looked directly at you. “Can I buy you a drink?” You snorted and shook your head, the room spinning for a second or two.

“No, but thanks.”

“My friends over there by the bar, let me buy you a drink.” Was he deaf?

“No,” you repeated. He was about to say something, no doubt going to ask you again, when you felt an arm slip around your back, settling on you waist. It was an awkward position given you were sitting on a high stool.

“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Class ran late.” You gave Hamish a confused look, your eyes glazed. Babe? Was was he doing? Did he just kiss you? “Can I help you?” He asked the man that continued to hover, said stranger held up his hands in surrender and moved along to the next girl, no doubt.

“Professor Duke?” Margaret asked, sounding fairly confused. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Ah, hello,” Hamish said to her, even in your drunken haze, you could tell he had no idea who she was. It didn’t surprise you given he’d only taught one of your classes. “I was just-”

“Intruding on my life, once again,” you finished for him, and shrugged his arm away. He leaned one forearm on the table, the sleeve of his shirt soaking up some of the drink you’d spilled earlier. He wasn’t bothered.

“I tried to apologise,” he said.

“Um, no,” you said and slammed your drink down on the table, “you acknowledged an apology was owed and then lied to me.” He grimaced.

“It’s complicated,” he murmured. You forced a bitter laugh.

“You hear that, girls?” You asked, “He says it’s complicated.” Margaret looked wary about whatever was going on, the fact that Hamish was a Professor confused her, but her friends who had no idea who he was hollered back.

“Move on,” redhead with hoops told him. You smiled sweetly and waved him away, and to your irked dismay, he actually left your side. You finished your drink quickly, climbed off of the stool and walked...okay, you stumbled, up the aisle towards the back of the bar. The door was in sight but you knocked into denim jacket man and he batted his lashes at you, leaning in and pulling you up right with one arm.

“Hamish, don’t-” In mere seconds, you were towed away from denim jacket man’s grasp and were practically pushed into the arms on a girl you didn’t recognise. “Jack, take her.” She pushed you away, somewhere behind her, and then the fighting started. Hamish threw the first punch and then everyone began throwing down. Thankfully, Margaret and her girlfriends had gotten to you in time for you all to make a safe exit.

“That’s some man you have there,” redheaded hoops said, her arm linked in yours.

“That’s Professor Duke,” Margaret told her.

“An older man, ay?” Short hair curls jeered. “Come on, honey, let’s get you some coffee.” Coffee. Coffee sounded good, and chips… Chips sounded wonderful.

You were leaned over a flat white in Starbucks when Hamish slipped into the booth opposite you. Your head was far clearer than it had been five hours earlier but it didn’t help you comprehend his recurring presence.

“Before you say anything,” he said, and placed a small plate down in front of you. Another cinnamon swirl. “You’re right. I never actually thanked you or apologised.” You picked up the pastry.

“Go on.”

“Thank you for assisting me home yesterday, and I’m sorry I lied to you.” He looked sincere enough.

“Are you going to tell me the truth?” You asked, your gaze narrowed. Hamish leaned back, his shoulders slumped forward. That was your answer. “Thanks for this.” You toasted the cinnamon swirl to him and then looked down into your coffee, hoping he understood the gesture for what it was. A dismissal. He didn’t take his leave.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, his voice hushed, hurried and deadly serious. You looked up into his eyes, his incredibly blue eyes. It sent a chill down your spine and raised small bumps all over your arms. You could have believe that, just taken it at face value and left it alone, but that wasn’t in your nature and something told you that he knew it too.

“No,” you replied. “I think you know I would which is why you’re not going to tell me.” He sighed.

“You never did make things easy.” With that, he got up and left you to it. You dropped the cinnamon swirl to the plate and glared at his now empty space. What the hell was that supposed to mean?


	5. Danger

The queue was slow-moving, you were exhausted from yet another night of bad dreams featuring a certain blue-eyed irritant, and your new phone wasn’t going to be delivered for another week. So when Hamish-Professor Duke, you scolded yourself-sought you out at the union kiosk, you were already teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. You wanted to cuss at him, tell him to leave you the fuck alone but his expression unsettled you. Panicked, he looked panicked. When your eyes met, he visibly relaxed but only slightly.

“Stalker much,” you said when he approached, he ran a hand through his hair while his gaze darted around the immediate area. You realised he was looking for someone, and found yourself looking around as well. 

“Yesterday,” he said, “do you remember seeing my friend after the bar. Randall.” He was worried. It didn’t take a genius, thank God, for you to realise something had happened. Your gut twisted. 

“No, sorry,” you replied, your tone genuinely apologetic. “I barely remember leaving myself, let alone anyone else.” Margaret and her friends had gotten you back to your dorm for a much needed nap, and yet you had no recollection of actually making the walk from campus to your halls of residence. Hamish showed no disappointment in your answer, in fact, he looked almost relieved. You doubted you were ever going to understand him. 

“You need to go back to your dorm and stay there,” he ordered, and immediately your anger towards him resurfaced. 

“I don’t need to do anything you say,” you snapped. 

“I don’t have time for this!” He shouted. The majority of the union stopped to look in your direction, conversations halted. It honestly eluded you to who the fuck he thought he was. He knew nothing about you, how could he? And yet he swanned around as though he had any say whatsoever. Hell, your own Father didn’t have that much dictation over you. “Please. Please, I am begging you.” Your face was contorted between confusion and disbelief. “You could be in danger.” 

“I recommend you fucking off,” you said slowly, quietly, and as clearly as you could. A fire ignited behind his eyes and for a split second, you swore they turned white. “You don’t scare me,” you added, matching the intensity of his glare. He snorted in disbelief and shook his head, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought for a moment that his cheekbones might break through. 

“I’m trying to protect you... I, fuck, I shouldn’t have dragged you back into this, I’m so sorry.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked, throwing your hands up. “You know what, just don’t… just go. The only danger here is you and your fucking creepy stalker bullshit.” The look on Hamish’s face confused you, adding to the mound of questions you still needed answers to. He was too much for any normal person to deal with, far too much. Conversation was building around the both of you but the glances and outright staring made you squirm. Hamish was rooted, the look of sheer sadness was beginning to make you feel bad but only a little, and you’d be damned if you were going to let him know it. “You should go, Professor Duke. I have somewhere to be.”You watched him storm off with a cocktail of emotions. The rational part of you wanted to be smug that you’d won the argument but you weren’t ignorant enough to truly believe you’d won anything. Christ, the last person that’d made you feel so flabbergasted was your ex-boyfriend and you barely even remembered that relationship half the time. You eventually bought the coffee you were in line for but by the time you found a table, you weren’t in the mood to drink it. The fact that you then decided to head back to your dormitory was nothing to do with Hamish and his bizarre ‘danger’ paranoia, it was of your own complete accord. He could, frankly, go fuck himself. 

You began biting the skin around your nails on the walk back and there were various moments when your heart jumped at completely normal circumstances. Was this your life now? Feeling threatened just because some random man you barely knew felt the need to forewarn you about his own shitty dramas? Because you could have done without. Stephanie was out which gave you a rare opportunity to shower and dripdry on your bed, wrapped in your favourite Jaws beach towel with your hair up in a unkept makeshift bun. 

He kept eluding to somehow knowing you but that made absolutely no sense. You’re certain you would have remembered someone like that given how intense he acted, and yet there was still something about him. His entire presence… it was like remembering a dream you thought you’d forgotten about. How was it possible to feel like that about an actual person? This was real life, and sure college was stressful, but you hadn’t completely lost the plot. Or maybe you had. It made no sense; he made no sense. Still, even in your frustration, you hoped he found his friend. After all, this Randall guy had done nothing to you and if the danger Hamish spoke of was real-the jury was still out-then Randall might be in some serious shit. You continued to bite your fingers and when they began to hurt, you moved onto the skin of your lips. 

Stephanie returned in the evening and though you didn’t get on all that well, you were glad to have her company. You had tried to focus on your Identity assignment but every time you came back to the second of David Hume, you got distracted by thoughts of Hamish. You still couldn’t quite believe that this man, this Professor, had laid down on the ground next to you. He must have been on something. Hell, he probably still was. 

“Hey,” Stephanie said as she waved her hand in front of you. “You in there?” You swatted her hand away. “You alright? You’ve dazed off at least six times since I got back.” You cleared your throat and took a second to rub your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you replied, a little too late and without much conviction; she didn’t believe you. “I’m just stressed. I have an assignment due and there’s this guy-” 

“Oooh, a guy!” Stephanie grinned. “Girl, why didn’t you say.” 

“Why does everyone keep responding like that?” You asked, conflicted. 

“You just...never talk about your love life or, y’know, your life at all,” Stephanie told you. So you kept to yourself, so what? You crossed your legs, wishing your pyjama bottoms were a bit longer on the leg. 

“Are you cold?” You asked which made Stephanie snort. 

“Deflection, nice.” You rolled your eyes and watched her cross the room to put her phone on charge. “You wanna talk about it or are we going to small talk about the weather, again?” You knew that was some kind of dig at you but you elected to ignore it. You’d argued enough for one day. 

“He’s a Professor,” you told her. When she turned back to you, her eyebrow was raised. You already knew Stephanie liked gossip, she was always amidst someone’s drama so you were aware you couldn’t tell her everything, not if you didn’t want the entire college knowing before dawn. “I helped him, um, carry some things back to his house,” you tried to explain but even your adapted version sounded shady. 

“Alright,” Stephanie said, her tone reflected her wariness at the matter too. “Did he try something?” She asked, serious. 

“What? No. God, no, he was just really fucking rude afterwards,” you said. Hamish might have acted completely off his rocker but you couldn’t imagine him actually hurting you, that’s probably why you hadn’t reported him for being innapropriate. “I called him out on being rude and well, he continued being a dick.” 

“Oh,” she said, “well, fuck him then. You should report him.” 

“Mmm,” you said, not wanting to outright disagree in case it raised more questions. You already regretted trying to talk about it, it felt more complicated than that and...and you didn’t want her sticking her nose in your business in case it made things worse. Well, shit. You’re Hamish’s Stephanie. Wait, no. You were just chatting to Stephanie, it wasn’t like you’d been rude to her or gotten her involved in anything potentially dangerous. No. He was still the asshole in the wrong. You were nothing alike. Not at all. 

“You wanna get drunk?” Stephanie asked. “Better than staying cooped up in here. There’s a single and ready to mingle night on at the Chalice.” You shook your head. If something happened to you...if whatever Hamish had warned you about happened, well the bastard would be right and you weren’t going to give him any reasons to be smug. “Your loss. My friends are coming to get me in an hour so I’m going for a shower.” She didn’t need you to response. In fact, you were usually just background noise in Stephanie’s life, and you never thought it would bother you. Until there was a knock at your door. Until you answered it, assuming it was Stephanie’s friends. Until the girl with long brown hair and a kind smile stabbed a needle into your neck. Until Stephanie got out of the shower and saw you weren’t there, and thought nothing of it.


	6. Dr Hemmings and his research facility

Christ, your head was killing. Wait, no. It wasn’t your head, the ache covered more skin than that. Why did your body feel as though it was on fire? Oh God, your neck. You raised your hand to touch the punctured area, grimacing. You could barely remember the woman stabbing you but it hurt, more so than it was often portrayed in films and tv shows. You opened your eyes a few times, groaning while they adjusted to the bright light of your...what? Cell? Where the hell were you? The room reminded you of a solitude cell, not that you’d ever been in one but you used to watch an insane amount of cop dramas. Okay, fine, you still watched an insane amount of cop dramas. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said, making you jump. You looked around, confused, until you realised there was a speaker panel above the door. You used the white-painted brick walls to help you to your feet and gingerly stepped towards the door. “There’s no use trying to get out,” the voice said, it was a man. How could he see you? Where- oh. In the right corner, now behind you, was a camera. Your stomach flipped and before you could contemplate a number of horror films that this scene was from, you vomited across the floor. “Ah. Good. We expected that to happen.” We? Who the hell was he? 

“Where am I?” You asked, your throat hoarse. 

“Save your breath,” he seemingly replied, “I can’t hear you. There are no microphones installed in your pen. You will have to wait until one of my colleagues stops by to ask your questions.” You spit the acidic taste from your mouth a few times before letting yourself swallow, it was still a disgusting experience. “Don’t panic. You’re safe here.” You highly doubted that given the extent to just how much you’d gone through already. Who stabs someone in the neck? It’s just rude. “Someone will be along shortly.” Who? What the fuck was happening? 

After a few deep breaths, you turned back to the door and started hammering your fists against it. It barely made a sound, the metal only hurt your knuckles, and your breath was fogging up the glass as you tried to see what was out there. You switched to knocking on the glass instead and when that didn’t work, you tried ramming the door with your entire body. Fuck! Was this who Hamish had warned you about? Did he know that this would happen? Was he part of the ‘we’? A whine escaped your throat. This was why you didn’t socialise, people had their own stupid fucking problems and you didn’t need to be a part of them. It wasn’t even like Hamish told you anything, why were you being punished? 

Avoiding your own vomit, you made your way back to the corner you’d woken up in and slid down the wall. Your chest was tightening by the second, worsening the headache and the pain in your neck. What had they done to you? 

What you could only imagine felt like forever later, a man in a white polo shirt stopped in front of your door, the logo hidden. His face was square and his hair an unflattering shade of blonde. He opened a small letterbox shaped hole in the door and waited until you’d scrambled to your feet before he spoke.

“I’ve brought you some aspirin and water,” he said. 

“Where am I?” 

“A research facility,” he replied and sighed. “Look, do you want it or not?” You had a million more questions to ask but you supposed you could still ask them after you’d taken some pain relief, not that aspirin was going to help much. You swallowed painfully and reached out through the hole to take the offerings but as soon as he grabbed your wrist, you started to squirm. 

“Get off!” You began to slap at him with your free hand but his grip was far too strong. “Help me! Help me, please!” A sharp pain erupted in your wrist and when the dickhead released it, it sprang back to your chest so you could nurse the pain. A small pin prick of blood surfaced but that was it. How could something so small hurt so fucking much? “What did you do?” You asked, your voice as loud as it could go. “Why are you doing this?” Instead of answering anything, the fucker simply closed the hatch and smirked at you through the glass. You wanted to swear, call him names, scream even - but after a few seconds, your tongue began to feel numb and then you were stumbling backwards. You barely registered lying down, your breathing was deafening. Had he just drugged you? Again? 

-

The second time you came around, you weren’t alone. The girl from your dorm was there, the one that had stabbed you, that bitch. You tried to raise your arms, give her a punch in the face for good measure, but you couldn’t. She gasped when she saw you were awake, a look of panic in her eyes. 

“Doctor,” she said, and a moment later, you were looking up at an old man in a sweater vest. 

“Not to worry,” he said to her, “her metabolism is fast. Give her some more.” 

“Wait,” you heard yourself say. “Please. Just let me go, I-” 

-

This time felt the worst. You felt as though 20 trucks had run you over, allowing you time between each one to stand up again. Groaning out loud didn’t help but at least your headache was no longer sound-induced, it was more like being punched from all angles induced. You lay there for a while, your insides not quite right. When you were confident you weren’t about to throw up, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. You were in a different cell this time but you could only tell because this one had no window on the door and there were cameras in every corner. Rubbing your wrists, which were red raw, you got down off of the hospital cot and paced. They’d done something to you, you were certain. You felt it in your gut. 

“Hello?” You asked, just in case this cell did actually have a two-way communication. “Can anyone hear me?” Nothing. You walked over to the door and pressed your ear against it, and listened. Nothing. Fuck. Your stomach growled and then cramped, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten in - well, possibly - days. You banged on the door, frustrated, and were just about to start jumping up and down to gain Big Brother’s attention when you heard something. Something on the other side of the door. “Hello?” You called. 

“Stand back from the door,” a muffled voice said. You shuffled back, your heart hammering in your chest. The door opened slowly as if on automatic and to your relief, you saw two people your own age in ordinary clothes. “Are you alright?” The boy asked. 

“You,” the blonde girl said, “what’re you…” She shook her head. “We have to go. Hamish is outside, do you think you can make your way out of the building?” You leaned against the wall for a second and then nodded, sure you could. Hamish was here? How did he know? Wait...was he in on it all or not? 

“They look like they’re going to pass out,” the boy said, lowering his voice as though to spare your feelings. “Stay here, I’ll text Hamish to come and get you.” 

“I don’t want to stay here,” you said, shaking your head simultaneously. 

“They did something to you, didn’t they?” He asked, giving you a sympathetic look over. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” the girl trailed off, the rational part of you would never have finished her sentence but something in your gut knew exactly what she meant. She wanted to lock you up. “You could be dangerous.” 

“I am a victim,” you said, your voice tremorred. “I need to get out of here. I can’t be stuck anymore, I can’t be here.” The boy nodded slowly, as though he were wary you might freak out. What right did they have to treat you less than anyone else? There was nothing wrong with you, at least nothing obvious, and you’d been taken against your will. “Please just let me go.” 

“We’re not with these people, okay?” The boy said, slowly backing away. The girl was giving him a look, a look that said she disagreed with his actions. Hell, what did she know? Maybe she should spend some time locked in a cell, being experimented on, and see how she fucking felt about it then. “There’s signs on how to get out of the building, Hamish will meet you as soon as he can, alright?” You nodded in agreement and as soon as you were able to get past, you were off. You used the walls to keep you upright and your head snapped side to side while you looked for the exit signs. It felt as though everywhere looked the same and then you realised you were still walking down the same corridor. What was going on with your head? What had that bastard done to you? 

You managed to find a staircase and took it down, one step at a time, while clinging to the railing. Your legs weren’t sore but they still felt shaky and you could do without falling down some stairs. Your neck was killing. You stepped out of the stairwell and in a flash, something was in front of you. Their hair was white, skin sickly pale and they had a demonic look in their eyes as they charged towards you. What the fuck was wrong with him? Oh God, was that what you were? Were you gonna turn into that? What the fuck was going on at this facility? You brought your arms up to defend yourself, your eyes closed and breath held. Your heartbeat was racing, drumming against your ribcage; demanding freedom - an escape from the fear coursing through your limbs. You flinched and shrieked as warm hands grabbed your shoulders and shook you. 

“It’s me, it’s me,” said a familiar voice, a voice you’d heard hundreds of times before. “You’ll get tired of hearing me say it one day.” “I doubt it.” “Well then, if you insist, Mrs Duke.” Your eyes opened and to your relief, Hamish was standing before you with a look of concern. He was wearing a blue shirt with white markings on it and a burgundy cardigan, a stupidly Hamish cardigan. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Before he could move away though, you’d stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, pushing your face into his chest. His arms came around you and embraced you just as tightly. 

“They did something to me,” you whispered, tears pricking in your eyes. “I think I’m going insane.” What had happened to that man? That creature? Christ, you should have barricaded your God damn dormitory. What had happened to Stephanie, was she alright? You felt bad for only thinking of her now when she could have been taken too. 

“It’ll be alright,” he reassured you. “Everything is going to be alright, I promise.” He pulled away, forcing you to let go, but kept a hold on your left arm. You walked with him, out of the stairwell, down the corridor, towards the building exit. All the while, he shared your weight so that you could walk at your own pace while tears trickled down your face. Hamish pushed the door open and for a moment, you felt as though you were being blinded. 

“No,” you heard someone shout, it sounded like that girl from before. “Get her away from the door!” Why was she so hell bent on trapping you? What the fuck had you ever done to her? You closed your eyes into a hardened expression and took a step forward, hoping your eyes would adjust quickly so you could go home. You needed a shower. 

A scream erupted from your chest, your limbs frozen in place, not that you could bear the thought of moving. You felt as though your face and forearms were being pressed up against a white hot iron, you barely registered Hamish grab your waist and pull you away from the door, or the other boy pulling the door closed. Hell, even as you fell to the floor, you couldn’t process anything beyond the intense burning on your skin.

“Do something!” You heard Hamish yell. 

“Healing magic, right?” The boy, the kind one who let you go. 

“I don’t even know if it would work,” the girl replied. 

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hamish. 

“Because she’s a vampire,” said a voice you hadn’t heard before, just before a fist connected with your face… darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
